Love In Decline
by jackwabbit
Summary: JS, Jack Angst. Jack Seeks Comfort After Learning About Sam and Pete, and His Night Is Eventful. Spoilers: Chimera


**Love In Decline**

Rated: R (language, minor adult themes)

Category: Angst

Season: Late Season Seven

Spoilers: Chimera, A Hundred Days, Solitudes

Summary: Jack Seeks Comfort After Learning About Sam and Pete, and His Night Is Eventful.

Note: To those non-Parrotheads out there, Jimmy Buffett has an album called 'Riddles in the Sand'. It's not a happy album, but it's a good one. A while back, I realized just how many songs on said album could be applied to my favorite sci-fi 'couple', Sam and Jack. So, a self challenge to write a story for each song on the album ensued. The is the eighth. Not a song fic.

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"Going ninety to nothing and flying stone blind. Just a living example of love in decline."

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I haven't been here in a long time. It's been a whole four months. May not seem like a long time, but everything's relative. I used to come here at least once a week. The smoky air and the dim lighting let me get lost in the crowd easily. The drinks were good. Still are. Most importantly, though, coming here makes me feel good about myself. No matter how down I am, there's always someone more down than me.

Take the guy in the corner over there. Scruffy and tired looking, nursing a single beer like a lifeline. Staring off over the top of his drink more than drinking it. I've been that guy, way too many times, but I could always look around and see someone who looked worse off than me. Maybe that's a pathetic way to cheer myself up, but it worked.

Tonight, though, I seem to be having the opposite problem. While there are definitely a few here who look more depressed than I am, I seem to be noticing the happier ones. The ones who are flirting, meeting, smiling.

My train of thought is interrupted as the barmaid comes over.

"Hey stranger, long time no see. The usual?"

I don't even want to think about the fact that I have a usual and that I'm remembered well enough at a seedy little bar to be missed when I'm not around. Talk about depressing. Course, there's a bit of comfort to it, too. I just nod my head and my thanks to Linda (yes, I know her name), and she hurries off to get the drinks.

A pint of Guinness Stout and a shot of fine Irish whiskey appear in seconds, and I marvel at how this little bar can keep up such an large inventory that makes it popular with actual drinkers.

I lean back in my booth bench seat and continue my perusal of the crowd. It's Friday night, and even though it's early, there's a pretty good number of people in here. I start to notice things again. The four young college guys who just want to party. The waitress who is barely tolerating them. The five giggling girls who somehow found their way in here for a 'real drink'. Probably on their way to a sorority party or something. The guy with problems still in his corner. The seemingly happy couple stopping in for a few on their way to something else. The professional alcoholic in the worn seat by the bar, just putting them away. The player over by the pool tables who isn't just interested in billiards. The much younger girl he's after who's flattered, but not interested.

Ouch. That one hits a little close to home. I'm grateful that just as I notice this pair, Linda returns with another pint, another shot, and a plateful of greasy chili cheese fries without my asking. Yep, there is something comforting about this place after all.

I nod my thanks again, and Linda just smiles back. She is used to my silence and never pushes. She's middle aged, pretty but plain, and seems like the type that no one would mess with. Ever. She carries a little extra around the hips, but her arms are strong and defined from years of lifting heavy trays, and the extra is pretty appealing, if I do say so myself. I sometimes wonder how women like her can keep going. How they end up working here. Then again, it's probably like everything else. Just trying to make ends meet, like the rest of us. We all struggle in one way or another. I confess to always leaving a big tip, which probably helps plead my case, but Linda has always been great to me, like an old friend who never falters. I'm not sure I'd keep coming here if she left-familiar is good sometimes.

I must be staring, because Linda gives me a puzzled look before leaving.

"Jack? You want something else tonight?"

"Huh? What? Uh, no. Just thinking."

"Alright, you just call me if you need anything."

"K."

A slightly worried look passes across her face, followed by a small reassuring smile, and Linda leaves it at that. She returns to her other customers, the conversation reminding me of another reason I like it here. Here I'm just Jack. I'm not Colonel O'Neill, and not important for any reason. Just Jack. Just a regular guy, like everyone else. Just Jack. It's nice to be known by my first name. To know that people treat me the way I deserve to be treated based on my actions, not because of my rank or some other trapping of the military.

It's also nice just to hear my name sometimes, from someone other than Daniel, even if it's not who I want to hear it from. Don't go there, Jack. Just don't. You have no right, and you know it's a dangerous path to walk. Don't even think about her. I try to clamp down on the images and thoughts that are now coming unbidden into my mind, but I fail miserably. A blonde, with startling blue eyes and carrying nothing extra, invades my brain like a fog rolling in, encompassing everything, making nothing clear.

Carter.

Major Samantha Carter.

My 2IC. My friend. An invaluable member of my team. And something else.

What else, I don't know. I don't even know if I want to know. That's the worst part. Not even knowing what I want. Knowing there is something there, between Carter and I, that keeps turning up like a bad penny. Something that won't be denied, but yet always dances just out of reach. Something that gets confusing in random, unprotected moments-is it just fear of losing yet another friend that brings up the powerful emotions between us? Is it just lack of options? Or is it something more? Something real or imaginary?

Dammit! I came here to get away from these thoughts. To try to find comfort in a place that usually provides it. So why can't I get away from her tonight?

Oh, right, because of some guy named Pete. Carter seems happy. She's been humming, for God's sake. She's moving on with her life. I'm happy for her. I really am. I know I have no right to feel anything else. It's just…I don't know. I knew this day was coming. I mean, we locked it all up in that damn room, so to speak, for so long, that I knew one day it would get thrown away entirely. We've been undeniably drifting apart lately, and as much as that sucks, it's probably a good thing. She needs to move on with her life. I understand that. She probably feels like she can't wait forever. I've felt the same way more times than I can count. I mean, on one hand, she and I have this 'thing' that, while powerful, may or may not mean anything or work out in any way. On the other, the real world is out there. Just waiting to be explored. Carter and I have played it safe for so long, denying each other ourselves out of some sense of duty and denying all others to keep from being hurt by anyone else, that it's become habit. I thought it would last forever like that, but I guess I was wrong. I'm proud of Sam for being the brave one and for actually doing something, anything, to get a life outside of the SGC.

Really. I am.

I just wish it hadn't been this. I don't know exactly what I feel about it, but I know it's not good. Some sort of mixture of jealousy, anger, and hurt at being rejected fills me. A bitter pill to swallow, especially since I know I have no right to feel any of it. The fact that I can't turn off these feelings makes me even more angry at myself.

I toss back the whiskey shot that had been sitting undrunk since Linda's last visit for refills and slam it down on the table. I must have done so harder than I meant to, because my friend was walking by at the time, and she jumped slightly.

"Jesus, Jack. Take it easy on the glasses, ok?"

"Sorry."

"It's alright, hon, just calm down, ok? Wouldn't want Johnny to come give you a hard time, eh?"

Right. Johnny. The owner of this establishment. Johnny looks like he couldn't hurt a fly, but I know for a fact that he was a mean boxer in his day, and, like Linda, he doesn't tolerate any crap from the customers. He also has a healthy relationship with the local constabulary. I have seen entirely too many disagreements settled by squad car in this place to argue. My table on the far wall comes in handy for seeing everything without being seen much. Convenient. Wait a minute. What did Linda just say? Was that my imagination, or…

"Linda, where you from?"

"Huh?"

"Your accent. I just noticed it. Where you from?"

"St. Paul."

"Minnesota? No lie?"

"You betcha." She leaves with a wink and a nod, but there's only a beer on my table this time, no shot. Guess that's my clue that Linda thinks I'm getting close to my limit for the night. She might be right, too, with the thought that just wandered through my head.

It's not like I haven't had a few flings since this whole thing with Carter and I started up. I have. A guy can't live on thoughts alone, so to speak. Not something I'm proud of, but there you have it. I've been around the block a few times. Never anything serious, though. Not like this thing with this Pete guy-Sam can say what she wants, but I can tell there's a little something there. She's interested. In more than a fling, I'd say. Call me crazy, but I think I know her well enough to tell at least that much. And something similar just crossed my mind. A completely insane notion to ask Linda out just skittered across my brain like a replicator. A Minnesota girl? I admit it, my interest just jumped up a bit. After all, she is closer to my age…don't go there, Jack. Are you insane? Like she would want to get to know a drunken loser customer like you. You don't even know if she's single.

Great. Now I'm really confused. This is too much for my addled brain. I came here to not think about Carter and yet I've spent a good deal of time engrossed in that very subject. And now I'm thinking about another woman. One I barely know. Somehow, despite my new attention to Linda, I know I'm not interested in using this fine lady as a distraction as I admittedly have others. She deserves better, like Carter. As much as I would like to lash back at Carter by showing her I can move on, too, I can't do it like this. I can't just jump at the first chance I get, although there's plenty of chances in here now.

One glance around the room shows that the resident lounge lizard is still playing pool, but he's found a new target for his other desires, and this one seems much more willing to tolerate his advances. It's blazingly obvious to anyone with half a brain that those two will be leaving together and then parting in the morning (or sooner) on awkward terms. Same goes for those two getting way too hot for comfort in the hall by the bathrooms. Even the dance floor seems to be getting paired off, now. As depressing as it is to see all this frenzied coupling, I'm through with it. Like I said, I've had my share of flings, and it's not what I want anymore.

It hasn't been what I've wanted for a long time. I love my job. I love the adventure. I love the exploration. But I'll be damned if I don't admit that sometimes I just want to sit back and do nothing. Let someone else save the day for once, and just enjoy the little things.

Damn, tonight sucks.

Images of Edora come floating through my mind, and while it was hard to let go of the SGC then, now…well, I don't think I'd resist so long. There are certainly days when I wonder what would have happened had I stayed there. I don't think it would have been so bad.

Would it?

My musings are interrupted by a sudden need to use the restroom. Guess it's time to break the seal. I'm halfway to the bathroom when the lounge lizard starts arguing with a fellow patron loudly. I know Johnny and his crew are perfectly capable of dealing with this, so as I go around the troublemakers to get to the bathroom, I give them a wide berth. Apparently not wide enough, though, as suddenly there's motion all around me and a full-fledged bar fight breaks out. Everyone is in on this all of a sudden-what the hell is going on? Maybe it's a full moon or something, but everyone is in a mood to fight.

A shove from behind gets my attention and I turn to see an annoyed patron taking a swing at me. He connects full force and I react without thinking. I fight back.

XXX

Tonight started out like any other, but I should have known it wouldn't stay an ordinary night, what with Jack O'Neill walking in early. Usually means there's something in the air when that one wanders in. Not that I'm complaining. All the girls know he sits in my section, even if it wasn't my section before he came in. Seniority does have it's privileges, you know. There's just something about the guy, besides his good looks, that draws me to him. Someday I'll get his story out of him-I know there's one there. It's written all over him, even if he doesn't realize it. Got more words out of him tonight than I ever expected, though. Almost had a real conversation. Wonder what made him pick up on my accent, anyway? Who knows.

A sudden but garbled loud noise behind me breaks my reverie, and I turn from my glasses behind the bar to see what's doing on.

Ah, shit. A fight. Guess that scumbag pool player finally set off the wrong guy with his mouth. The boys will take care of it soon enough, though, and we'll all be glad to get rid of him. I hope the other guy gets a few licks in, first, though-the idiot deserves it.

Whoa, whoa, whoa-what the hell is going on here? This fight is hotter than I thought. The whole freaking bar seems to be in on it.

"Linda, stay there and call the cops! We'll get this straightened out!" Johnny yells at me over his shoulder as he runs past. He and his boys have left the kitchen now and are entering the mass of squirming, fighting bodies on the floor.

I pick up the phone behind the bar and start to dial the local sheriff when something catches my eye. It's Jack. In the middle of the fight, giving a whole lot better than he's getting. I can't help but stand and stare as he incapacitates a guy twice his size and half his age. He's fast, and obviously well trained, but come on-Jack is easily as old as me, and I saw forty-five more than a few years ago. How can he be doing so well? For that matter, how is he in on this? I've seen him sit at that booth of his more than a few times while other patrons scuffled about in a skirmish. He never seemed interested in getting involved. If anything, it seemed to amuse him to see younger men getting all hot and bothered over some trivial incident. Why is he in on this one?

As I watch, the guy that was pushing Jack around falls to his knees and gets a vicious kick to the gut for his troubles. Jack doesn't even seem to know what he's doing. It's just happening, like he's done this more times than I could count. It's just instinct. Now I really want to know his story. Jack rolls the guy over with his foot and picks up his boot to strike down on the prone figure's face. There's a wild and kindof scary look on his face, but I see it subside as he realizes what he's about to do. He stops himself with difficulty, looks around in a panic, and backs out of the fight and against a wall.

With my show over, I remember my task. I quickly dial the sheriff and tell him we have a few to round up for brawling and a night in the drunk tank. He promises he'll be over as soon as he can to mop up what the boys can't handle. I would love to say this was the first time I'd called him, but we both knew the drill. This isn't exactly the most upscale joint in the world, and this happens every now and then.

The sheriff arrives about fifteen minutes later, and Johnny and his boys have subdued all but a few customers. The pool guy and two of his buddies are getting hauled off to a squad car and the rest of the guests are gradually drifting out, as it's near closing time and the place is a mess anyway. Guess it's an early close, but a late night cleaning tonight. Great.

I turn back to my cleaning, and that's when I see him. Jack O'Neill. Standing perfectly still and staring at nothing. Right where he'd backed out of the fight. Just standing there. What the hell is he doing?

Johnny and the cops see him about the same time.

"Hey! You! You over there! What're you doing? You in on this?"

Jack just looks at them, seemingly dazed. I get over there as fast as I can without running and step in. Can't have my favorite customer being hauled off to jail, now can I?

"I got this one, Johnny-he's cool. Just need to settle his bill and he'll be on his way."

Johnny looks at me skeptically. "You sure, Linda?"

"Yeah, he's ok. I got it."

"Alright."

I lead Mr. Personality over to the bar and sit him down.

XXX

Shit, shit, shit! I can't believe I did that. How did I get sucked into a freaking bar fight, for crying out loud? I know I lost it for a minute there. I don't remember the fight itself. That's not unheard of for me, but in this situation, I can only hope I didn't do anything too stupid.

Linda sits me down like a child and puts a shot of whiskey in front of me.

Puzzled, I look up at her. "What's this for?"

"Drink it. It'll help."

I oblige, although I'm not sure more alcohol is really in my best interest. As I set the glass back down on the bar, a glass of water appears, as does my tab for the night.

"That last one's on the house, but you have to settle up for the rest, you know."

"Right." As I reach into my wallet, Linda gives a small cry of dismay.

"You're bleeding."

I reach up and feel my eyebrow, where a new split has joined the scars from countless others. There's a small trickle of blood on my fingers as I pull them away.

"It's nothing. Don't worry about it. Here."

I slide my credit card across the bar and Linda takes it but immediately sets it aside and pulls a clean washcloth out from under the bar. To my complete surprise, she wets it and begins to dab it on the cut. I am not comfortable with this. I haven't been doctored by someone other than myself or, well, a doctor since…oh, so not going there. Damn Carter and her lack of field medic skills. I find my voice after a moment's indecision. It comes out weaker than I'd like.

"You don't have to do that."

Linda's voice isn't weak at all. "Maybe I want to."

I can't help but feel ashamed at this woman's kindness. Here I am, drunk and being a total jackass, and she's taking care of me with the gentleness of the best nurse around. She already bailed me out of a jam with the boys in blue over there, too. I'm struck again with how extraordinary this woman must be, and I remember how nice she's always been to me. The thought makes her actions all that much more uncomfortable, and I reach my hand up to grab her wrist.

"Stop."

"Sorry."

"No, don't be sorry, I just…I don't know…just…stop…ok?"

Linda gives my newest cut one more dab before setting the cloth down and looking at me sadly. Her eyes seem to shine with understanding, and slowly a sad smile crawls across her face.

"Ok, hon. I understand."

Does she? Can she really see into my soul and understand that I can't let her do this because it's just too personal? Too intimate? That I have to stop this because I can feel myself enjoying it? That I'm uncomfortable because areas of myself that I haven't heard from in a very long time are starting to stir restlessly? I don't know if it's the alcohol, the buzz from the fight, or true emotions, but I can feel my barriers starting to fall, and part of me wants nothing more than to just go with this. Linda's gentle touch feels good, and I'm interested in this woman.

Is that so wrong?

As I look up at Linda's sympathetic face, I decide that it isn't. Another part of me is screaming at me not to do this, trying to keep me safe. It's reminding me that my work isn't exactly conducive to a relationship and that I'm about as scarred as they come, so any relationship I enter is likely to fail, but I kick the negative voice back into it's closet, for once, and forge ahead anyway.

"Thanks."

"No problem, hon."

"You know, I've got a cabin up in Minnesota."

The sudden change of subject surprises and confuses Linda for a moment, but then she seems to remember our earlier conversation and catches on. Her smile changes to curiosity, and her eyebrows raise disbelievingly.

"Oh, really?"

"Yep. No fish in the pond, but it's a pretty sweet deal. Bet you'd like it."

"Is that an invitation?"

I shake my head. "Nope. Not yet."

My vague answer is rewarded by a puzzled expression. Linda's face wrinkles up and her head tilts sideways, reminding me of Teal'c. It's cute, and I laugh just a little.

I can't put it off any longer, so I ask the only way I can think of, hoping that Linda understands what I'm saying. "I was just thinking…maybe…if you wanted to go out sometime…we might make it up there someday…"

I can't believe I just did that. As soon as the words leave my mouth, my eyes are engrossed with a dirty spot on the bar, and my head snaps downward. I can feel my careful side beginning to fortify my defenses for rejection as my mind tries to wrap itself around the fact that I just invited an essential stranger to a private place that good friends see only rarely.

Nothing happens for a moment. I'm about to get up and leave in embarrassment, when Linda's hand reaches out and gently pulls my chin upward. She forces me to look at her, and even though I want to shy away, her intense gaze won't let me. Her words shock me.

"I'd like nothing more, Jack. I like you. Always have." I feel a few heartbeats of cautious joy, but then she hesitates, and I know what is coming. The cynical side of me laughs bitterly.

"But?"

Linda's eyes soften, and she smiles that sad smile again.

"But I've spent long enough in this job to know when I don't stand a chance."

Her words confuse me, and it must show. I blink a few times and feel my brow wrinkle, which reminds me of my latest tiny wound. I reach my hand up to feel the cut and the swelling that is setting in and mumble a brief expletive.

Linda laughs a little, and explains. "Jack, I've seen enough men in this joint and ones just like it to know when someone is absolutely hung up on someone else. I'd only be second fiddle."

As she so expertly dissects me, Linda's hand touches my chin again, forcing me to meet her eyes for a second time. Her stare bores into me, and her voice becomes hard.

"And you know it."

I hold the stare as long as I can, but her words ring true and eventually I can't look at her any longer. I sigh, and turn my head away, closing my eyes against her scrutiny.

I don't move for a long moment. Linda turns away from me and runs my credit card through the machine, then returns with the receipt for me to sign. As she sets it in front of me, she sighs loudly. I don't look up as I mechanically sign my name, and I jump a little at the quiet question Linda asks next, in a voice that is barely a whisper, but easily heard.

"Do you love her?"

I snort an acidic laugh and then chuckle mirthlessly for a few seconds before returning to my study of the bar. I trace the pattern of the wood with my finger, and it's a long time before an answer comes, in a voice that almost doesn't sound like my own.

"I guess."

Linda's hand moves, but she doesn't touch me. After a long pause, she whispers again.

"You should tell her."

I look up at Linda then, soft amazement on my face. How does she know about this?

Linda smiles across the bar at me and gently chides, "It's not my first barbeque, Jack. Some things are pretty obvious, when you've been watching people as long as I have."

I smile back and nod my head slightly. This woman is wise, and I can't ague with her.

She repeats her advice, ever so gently.

"You should tell her."

"That's not really an option." The bitterness in my voice surprises even me.

Linda thinks for a second before responding. "Well, hope springs eternal, Jack. Don't give up. Come on, I'll call you a cab. Go home and get some sleep. Things won't look so bad in the morning."

I nod my silent permission. I have a hard time thinking my personal situation will improve anytime soon, but I know I can't drive home, so a cab seems like a good idea, and I'm grateful to Linda for looking after me.

Ten minutes later, Linda packs me into the back seat of a grimy taxi and hands me a small scrap of paper. I look at her quizzically, and she smiles.

"In case things change, or if you ever just need a friend."

I unfold the paper to reveal a phone number, hastily scrawled on a bar ticket. I'm half tempted to tell this woman that things have already changed, but I know I can't fool her. She'd see through me like glass. Linda plants a chaste kiss on my forehead and shuts the door, leaving me a lonely cab ride home to contemplate the emotional roller coaster I've ridden tonight, and to think over my relationship with one Major Samantha Carter. I still carry a torch for Sam, but its light is getting dimmer. She's moving on, and I can see change coming at me fast. Our bond is stretching thin, becoming a shining example of love in decline, and I think it's inevitable that I'll have to let go of Carter soon. If I don't, I'll go insane trying to hold on to something I can't have. Realizing that grants me some sense of peace, but I'm not quite ready to give up this battle. Call me stubborn, but I'll stay crazy for now. Soon, things might change, but not quite yet. I'll hang on for as long as I can. Maybe Linda was right, and hope does spring eternal, or maybe I just want to be angry a little while longer, but for tonight, I'm not letting go.

Soon maybe, but not tonight.


End file.
